Another Day
by Asctera
Summary: They refused to say "death" They would not allow it. It would be admitting that they were gone forever and they were not ready to accept it. They would never be.
1. Chapter 1

_Pairing : It's meant to be Itacest, but, frankly, except for two or three sentences, you can easily pass through it (I think?) Barely noticeable FrUK in chapter two._

 _Summary : They refused to say "death" They would not allow it. It would be admitting that they were gone forever and they were not ready to accept it. They would never be._

 _Warning. Characters' death. Hurt/comfort, but without comfort._

 _Disclaimer. I do not own Hetalia._

* * *

1 days. 13 hours. 24 minutes. 35 seconds.

1 days, 13 hours, 24 minutes and 35 seconds since the disappearance of Italy Romano and the Kingdom of Prussia. Veneziano would never allow himself to say "death" It would be admitting that they were gone forever. He was not ready for that. The truth was still too painful for him to accept. Was it going to be any other way one day, he wondered.

It had all happened without a warning. One day, they were here: Prussia laughing, Romano cursing, both of them talking, walking, simply being and, the next, they were gone. It had all happened in one night, without anyone witnessing it, without anyone being aware of what was happening in the next country, in the next house, on the next side of their bed.

Veneziano had woken up one morning in the bed he shared with his brother, but when he had turned around to look at the usual figure presumably sleeping next to him, there was no emerald eyes and tender smile for him to meet. At first he had thought that, maybe, Romano had simply woken up earlier to prepare breakfast like he would do sometimes when he was in a particularly good mood. There was no smell of coffee or fresh bread rolls. And no one in the kitchen.

And this desperate emptiness in his stomach. Something he had never felt before.

 _It's okay_ , Feliciano had tried to comfort himself, to stop the budding worries from growing any bigger. _He is probably gone to Spain. Without telling me. Nothing to worry about._ And, just to be sure, Veneziano had called Spain.

He didn't know where he was either.

It was okay. He was somewhere. He got to be somewhere. Probably going shopping. Anytime soon, the older Italian would walk through the door and Feliciano would feel incredibly stupid for worrying over nothing. It was how it was meant to happen. So, the younger Italian had sat at the table overlooking the kitchen, waiting for his beloved _fratello_ to come back home. He waited for hours and hours, not daring to move from an inch in fear of what would happen if he did so. He waited for hours, until it was late at night and he received a called from Germany. And then he knew. And then Germany knew. And the silence that followed was horrible to bear. Prussia had gone missing.

9 o'clock in the evening, day zero. That's when Veneziano started counting.

If only he could have said goodbye, if only he had had one more day to go.

Strangely, Feliciano did not cry when the realization first struck him. He had to wait for the emergency meeting that took place the day after. He had to wait for England to announce "the death of Italy Romano and the Kingdom of Prussia" The death... of Italy Romano. It felt like he had been stab in the chest from the front. Veneziano circled the table. Everyone was morning, morning the death of one, the other or both nations, silence hanging in the air. Spain wasn't even here, he realized. And that's when he really understood. Romano was dead, he would _never_ come back home. The pain, the realization, the emptiness. It was just to much for him to handle. A first tear escaped his eyes. And a second, and a third, and, now that it had begun, it seemed like nothing would be able to make it stop.

The room had grown silent. All eyes were on him. He didn't care. Because Romano was dead. Lovino was dead. His brother, his lover, his other half had disappeared. Forever. He was all alone now. He _felt_ so alone. He didn't care for anything else than the unbearable pain in his chest. Yet, he didn't want for it to stop. He wanted to feel it, he wanted for everyone else to feel it, he wanted to cry, forever if he had too, until someone brings him back. Please, someone brings him back.

Somewhere through his tears, he felt a comforting hand taking his. No one had dared doing that move. Germany did. Veneziano. No, _Italy_ , he really was Italy from now on – oh, how he had hoped he would not – didn't even find the strength to squeeze it.

1 days. 13 hours. 26 minutes. 47 seconds.

He knew he would never stop counting.

* * *

It had woken him up during the middle of the night. This feeling in his chest. Romano's eyes had snapped open, so abruptly he had thought it would have woken up the whole neighbourhood. A feeling that was not painful, not pleasant, that was just _here_. He knew something was happening because he could feel it, right in his chest and, for a brief moment, he thought it had to do with Feliciano. He took a look at his brother sleeping peacefully next to him.

Right. It was him, then.

Perhaps, he had known from the beginning. He wanted to make sure, anyway. Make sure that his little brother was alright. He was. Thankfully, he was.

Romano didn't even had to look at his slowly disappearing body to know he was dying. He knew it, he could feel it: the strength escaping his body, his mind growing slower and slower by every second. It was the day, he guessed. The older Italian knew it was going to happen eventually one day or another. The world didn't need two Italies for only one land. He was surprised he had gotten to survive for so long.

He was not scared, he would meet _Nonno Roma_ where he was going, he told himself. He was not scared. Not for himself. A single tear ran down his cheek as he gently raised his hand to come caressing his little brother's face. He looked at him lenghtily, taking in every single detail like it was the last time he would see him. It probably was. Maybe he should wake him up. _No_. No, he didn't want to see him cry. He didn't want to see him crying and suffering and shouting like he knew he would if he was to witness all of this. He was sleeping peacefully, safe in his dreamland and it was perfect like this.

A second tear was not long to follow. Tears after tears, slowly humidifying the duvet. And Romano cried silently, not because he was dying, but because of this face he would never get to see again, because of those lips he would never kiss again, because of the pain he knew he would inflict on his beloved brother. He didn't want to hurt him, didn't want for him to cry, to be sad. He would, he knew he would.

" _Ti amo tanto_." he whispered in the dark.

And just like that, he was gone. Italy Romano was gone. No corpse, nothing. As if he had never existed.

* * *

 _Since it's meant to be an Itacest oneshot, it's mainly focusing on North and South Italy. BUT, I'll do a chapter two (which means it will not be a oneshot anymore, I know) about Prussia and Germany too. Not Germancest, just plain Germanic brotherly love._

 _I hate myself for killing poor Romano and Prussia. I'm dying inside, I swear. I must be a masochist._

 _~Asctera_


	2. Chapter 2

There would be no grave. Never. Neither for Romano nor for Prussia. There will never be because there was no bodies to bury. Germany wondered if his memories would start fading away at some point too. There was no grave for them to cry onto and he had hoped this would be enough to make all the pain disappear.

Where had he been when his brother was dying? Where had he been when Prussia needed him the most? He should have been there, he should have been there to hold his hand.

He had not.

 _At least, if he is staying at France's or Spain's he could have called to say so_. That's what Germany had thought the day he woke up in an empty house, a house that would forever be empty from now on. He would blame himself for not growing worried at the very moment he had realized Prussia was not where he was supposed to be, sleeping and snoring loudly in his room. He had not thought much of it because it was not the first time Prussia had vanished into thin air for a night. He would blame himself nonetheless. Maybe if he had started worrying a little earlier he could have been there to hold him tight one last time.

He hadn't reflected so much on it. He had done the laundry, had done some cleaning like he always did, every day of every week, and as the hours were passing, as Prussia had yet to come home, he had started polishing harder and harder. And harder. And harder. He had forced himself to wait until the very last moment before calling France first, Spain second. He had forced himself to wait for hours and hours. Prussia hated it when he was "babysitting" him, as he would say. So, he had waited. Until the sun started to set into the horizon.

He had called France first, Spain second, Italy third. And that's when he had known. And that's when Italy had known. Both older brothers would never come back home.

They say every person has a different way of dealing with grief. Germany hadn't shed a single tears. He wished he had, but he simply couldn't, not the first time he had come to the realization and never after. He had spent the whole night standing up in the center of his living room, staring at nothing, gaze lost in the abyss, asking himself where he had been? Every day of every year, he had been here. Every day of every year, but not the day that mattered the most.

"The death of Italy Romano and the Kingdom of Prussia." That is what England announced the following day. Still no tear. What the hell was wrong with him? He felt so dead inside, so hurt, so... empty, why couldn't he cry? Just a single tear. A single tear, if only God would accord him that.

Germany looked up from the pen he had been staring at ever since he had first sat down on his assigned chair. Spain was not here, so he set his eyes briefly on France, looking blankly at the table in front of his eyes. He saw England sitting down beside him once the announcement was made, saw him take Francis' hand, holding it tight. Not a word was said. America was the next to stand up, ready to continue on with things that were supposed to be discussed in those cases. Things no one wanted to discuss. But he never got to open his mouth that Italy's cries came covering the silence. France had lost a friend. A really good friend. Spain had lost two friends, one he had grown up with, the other he had raised. Italy had lost a brother. _He_ had lost a brother. And he had taken his hand because Italy needed it, because he needed it. Because even though he couldn't cry, he could feel the pain, the unbearable pain that would probably never leave. Because no one could really understand, if not the two of them.

Maybe some countries would think he was strong for not following suit, breaking into tears. He was not and he had only hoped he would be able to echo Italy's loud cries of despair. He did not shed a single tear. And he would hate himself forever for that.

* * *

What time was it when Prussia waved at his two best friends, parting ways after an agitated night? 2 o'clock at least, 4 at most. Did it really matter? Not at that exact moment. Later, when people would start to investigate, maybe it would. But, for now on, Prussia simply waved, his large infamous smile never leaving his lips. He couldn't know, at this moment, that it would be the last time he would see them. He couldn't know, at this very moment, that he would never make it out of this narrow alley he had chosen to follow.

Prussia stopped in his tracks, clenched a fist to his heart when he first felt it. The twisted feeling. He knew what it was right away because he had waited so long for this to happen. He knew what it was right away and he felt the panic rising in his chest.

He was dying.

He resumed his walk, his steps speeding up.

Eventually, he was dying. After years and years waiting for his own disappearance, after eventually convincing himself that he was going to survive, he was dying.

If only he would be able to make it home. If only he could reach someone. He would not, he could perfectly see it. Nevertheless, he continued on walking, always. And this goddamn never ending alley. His strength was escaping his body quickly, way too quickly. He could feel himself falling any moment soon. Why did he even go partying? He regretted it now. Oh, if only he had known. Why did he go out? Why did he _have_ to go out? Why was he alone in here? Where were his friends, where was his brother, where was everyone? They were there and he was here. They were there and he was dying.

This never ending alley. Prussia could feel his steps slowing down again and again, despite his own will. He was dying and there was no one behind him to take his hand as he was disappearing into the abyss. No one to tell him everything would be alright. His steps slowed down ever so quickly until he was forced to stop in his never-ending race. He looked straight ahead, a glint of hope in his eyes as he prayed to catch the glimpse of someone, anyone in the far horizon. Country, citizen, a stray cat, he would have taken anyone. When it did not come, he felt onto his knees, hair obstructing his sight. He could feel the tears starting to run down his cheeks. He was here and he was dying. Alone, so very alone. Like he always thought he would.

* * *

 _So, guys, this is the end. At least... for now (ah, little teasing!)_

 _I didn't plan on continuing this story which, for me, was just some kind of oneshot with a bonus perspective. But, just the other night, I got an idea for a possible sequel (yes, I know, even though everyone is dead) If I ever publish it (which I most probably will, I wouldn't be talking to you about it otherwise), it will be a new story for people to have the possibility to separate the two if they want so._

 _Anyway! I just wanted you, people that were_ possibly _interested in this little twoshot, to know that this is not the end! I have no idea when this will be out, though, maybe a week, maybe a month, maybe more, I (sadly) have no planning. And so that you know what to expect, it will still be Itacest with side-Germany, no GerIta incoming._

 _This being said, sorry for the unusually long author note! That's all for me!_

 _~Asctera_


End file.
